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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989506">why must i be a teenager in love!?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryfran/pseuds/floweryfran'>floweryfran</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and i knew for sure (i was loved) [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Teenage Peter Parker/Teenage Johnny Storm, how Quirky of us!, just Oh We Love Each Other, kids and ice cream and springtime, no fight before the kiss, peter is a piece of shit, thats the whole summary, the vibes are delicate in this one, young rob lowe hhhhnnnng</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:56:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,344</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/floweryfran/pseuds/floweryfran</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look at me, you dirty asswipe.”</p><p>Johnny scoffs but does. </p><p>Peter’s looking at him already with that blank, white-eyed mask stare. </p><p>Johnny always wonders what clownery Peter is up to under the mask. Probably looking into the distance like Jim from The Office every five minutes. God, is Johnny Kelly? He doesn’t want to be Kelly. He wants to be Pam. </p><p>“What do you want, jerk face?” Johnny says, hoping the lavender light of dusk hides his three-alarm blush. </p><p>“Read my lips,” Peter says. Johnny’s stomach flips in anticipation as Peter rolls the mask up to his nose and whispers, “I’ll race you.”</p><p>And just like that, he’s gone.</p><p> </p><p>  <em> or, everything is good and soft for 1.3k!! they deserve a happy ending!! </em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker/Johnny Storm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>and i knew for sure (i was loved) [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>211</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>why must i be a teenager in love!?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts">seekrest</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>IM GIFTING THIS TO SEEK BC SHE SWADDLED ME WITH KINDNESS TODAY!! SEEK I LOVE YOU!!! no one can calm me down with four words like you can, it's an unbelievable talent of yours,,, the wise mother,,, my heart bumpbuMPS for you &lt;33</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Johnny is, simply put, having the best day ever.</p><p> </p><p>His intention had been to swing out for some hipster Brooklyn fro-yo and pass a few hours crashing Peter’s patrol in this lovely spring warmth, but then Peter had said “Let’s eat in Highland Park,” and Johnny, like the yes-man he is while staring at Peter’s stupid crooked smile, agreed. </p><p> </p><p>Thus they find themselves kings of the germy jungle gym, seated on plastic bars that dig into the bones of their asses, shoveling fro-yo into their mouths with almost concerning enthusiasm. The whole park is writhing with energy, kids screaming, sticky-fingered and smiley as they shove each other into the mulch. They ride the swings and go down the slide and toss footballs, but mostly they badger Peter and Johnny, and that is undoubtedly Johnny’s favorite part. </p><p> </p><p>He’s got his spoon wedged into the corner of his mouth now, vanilla melting over his tongue, as a really tiny kid clings to his ankle. Johnny swings his leg lightly, to the kid’s blatant enjoyment. Peter has got a girl who can’t be older than three on his lap, her facing him, her reaching for his ice cream and him holding it as far away from her as he can manage without over-balancing and tumbling them over the edge. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny crushes his empty paper cup, tosses it high into the air, and lights it up to free his hands. He reaches down for the boy clinging to his foot and pulls him into his lap. </p><p> </p><p>Peter really makes this whole balance thing look easy. Johnny, meanwhile, is getting the core workout of a lifetime. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny prods the little boy in the stomach, pulling a shrill giggle out of him. “What’s your name, bud?” </p><p> </p><p>“Aditya,” he says shyly, hiding behind his fringe. </p><p> </p><p>“That name is <em> awesome,” </em>Johnny says. “I’m Johnny Storm.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know you from TV,” Aditya says. “You did Sesame Street.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny grins, pleased. “I certainly did do Sesame Street. Which is your favorite character?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” says Aditya, head wiggling as he thinks. “Big Bird!”</p><p> </p><p>“You have impeccable taste, my friend. He is absolutely the prime choice. Tell me more about your favorite shows, I need some new recommendations.”</p><p> </p><p>Aditya lights up. </p><p> </p><p>It goes like this for a while, the kids trading out when someone starts crying or a parent decides it’s time to head home. The wind is gentle, all springtime caresses. Johnny can’t wait for the dandelions to start spitting out among the grass. City summers aren’t much more than debilitating heatwaves, and those are nothing to him. Spring, on the other hand, he can enjoy. He can watch the rains and see the trees begin to grow greener; can watch the locals start to shed layers like they’re cracking out of cocoons. </p><p> </p><p>Spring is all about new starts: a thousand-worded stare into something brighter, gentler, and kinder. Johnny is all over that shit. </p><p> </p><p>When Johnny’s last little friend—a girl named Alma with the most enormous brown eyes—leaves for the night, he stretches, satisfied, and turns towards Peter, who’s still talking. He’d talk to the goddamn walls. He must be thrilled to have an audience. </p><p> </p><p>The girl on his lap looks distinctly unimpressed. Johnny likes her immediately. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Peter says, leaning his chin on his palm. His mask starts contorting in this weird way that means he’s wagging his brows as he tells the girl, “You know, I’m a hero. I’m Spider-Man.”</p><p> </p><p>“Who?” the girl asks politely. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny wheezes. </p><p> </p><p>“Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?” Peter tries. “I beat up criminals and keep Queens safe!”</p><p> </p><p>“Queens,” the girl repeats with a wrinkle to her nose. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god okay I give up,” Peter says. “Next customer. We’re through. Sorry. This is not an amicable breakup and I’ll be fighting for custody of our dog.”</p><p> </p><p>The girl blinks, shrugs, then slides off his lap to the safety of the jungle gym below. </p><p> </p><p>“You are terrible with children,” Johnny notes. He then leans nearer to Peter and says, “Me next.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t even think about it,” Peter warns, lifting his hands in some dumb fake karate pose. </p><p> </p><p>“What if I just want to feel emotionally validated by a brief showering of your affection upon me in public like the youth of Brooklyn on this fine evening?”</p><p> </p><p>“The evening is pretty fine,” Peter acknowledges. </p><p> </p><p>“Other things here are fine too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm. That fro-yo was fine. On a scale of <em> mm </em> to <em> eh, </em>it was fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was thinking warmer things.”</p><p> </p><p>“This plastic bar is pretty warm from being up my ass for the past two hours.” He pats said bar in appreciation. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny rolls his eyes and gives up. He knows that a thing must be painstakingly, astronomically blatant for Peter to take notice of it, but this is just too much. </p><p> </p><p>He tilts his head back and lets the last lingering rays of evening sun cling to him, little warm tendrils like heat-baked leaves catching him on their way to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>“Torchy,” Peter says. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny hums a little. </p><p> </p><p>“Look at me, you dirty asswipe.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny scoffs but does. </p><p> </p><p>Peter’s looking at him already with that blank, white-eyed mask stare. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny always wonders what clownery Peter is up to under the mask. Probably looking into the distance like Jim from The Office every five minutes. God, is Johnny Kelly? He doesn’t want to be Kelly. He wants to be Pam. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you want, jerk face?” Johnny says, hoping the lavender light of dusk hides his three-alarm blush. </p><p> </p><p>“Read my lips,” Peter says. Johnny’s stomach flips in anticipation as Peter rolls the mask up to his nose and whispers, “I’ll race you.”</p><p> </p><p>And just like that, he’s gone. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny howls in protest before hopping to his feet on the bars and jumping with a furious, <em> “Flame on!” </em></p><p> </p><p>He chases Peter back into Queens, the both of them shouting and dodging the assault of the other, and Johnny nurses a delicate champagne-firework feeling in his stomach. He could fly without flames, he’d wager. </p><p> </p><p>When Peter sits himself on the awning over a bakery door, the whole thing taut with his weight, Johnny swerves to meet him. He makes his way aboard clumsily, the poles holding the fabric starting to squeak, but he sits anyhow. If it doesn’t hold them, it was never meant to be. </p><p> </p><p>The streets are barren despite the good weather. It smells vaguely like custard and yeast and berries beneath the lingering eau de street-piss and gutter-beer. It’s a perfect night. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny peers over at Peter and presses their shoulders together. </p><p> </p><p>The mask pulls like he’s smiling. Johnny’s eyes catch on it. </p><p> </p><p>Peter rolls the mask up again. “What’re you looking at me like that for?”</p><p> </p><p>“Like what?” Johnny asks. </p><p> </p><p>“Like I’m better than young Rob Lowe,” Peter deadpans. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny shrugs a little but smirks. “Maybe you <em> are </em>better than young Rob Lowe.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing—dude, listen to me right now, nothing, and I mean <em> nothing, </em>is better than young Rob Lowe.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny squints the right half of his face and offers a flippant “Sure, Spidey,” before facing forward again. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait. Wait, are you seriously implying I’m better than young Rob Lowe? Look at me again. Look me in the eye. Did you just—what were the unsaid <em> implications?”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Johnny fake yawns and clambers to his feet, nearly throwing Peter off the awning as it bounces wildly. “Gosh, it’s getting late,” he says, looking at his empty wrist. “I oughta get back to the ol’ BB.” </p><p> </p><p>“No, Johnny—Torch, hey, hey, Torch!”</p><p> </p><p>Peter makes it to his feet before Johnny can jump off the awning due to his stupidly enhanced agility alone. He grabs Johnny around the waist with all the enthusiasm of a slap-bracelet and asks, “You think I’m better than young Rob Lowe?” </p><p> </p><p>Johnny can’t stop smiling. “I think you’re the best young Rob Lowe.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, thank god,” Peter says, and then they’re kissing. </p><p> </p><p>So, yeah. It’s undoubtedly shaped up to be the best night of Johnny’s life. Even when they plummet like a pair of joyously infatuated stones eight feet to the sidewalk below. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i posted this to <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/floweryfran">tumblr</a> first, as usual! go follow the account to send me prompt requests or just hang out!</p><p>i hope you're all safe and healthy!! tomorrow my baby sister turns 16 and i wrote this to cope with the realities of teenagerhood. god, she's so much cooler than me.</p><p>&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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